


just call me "mr. modest"

by mr_charles



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Multi, Panty Kink, listen the m rating is for the panty theft, panty theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7587628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_charles/pseuds/mr_charles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward keeps them deep in a drawer, each pair with a memorized name attached to it. </p><p>(panty snatcher Nygma and the women he steals from)</p>
            </blockquote>





	just call me "mr. modest"

Edward can pinpoint exactly when it started. When he was 14, he leaned preciously out his living room window to snatch the green scrap of lace that Miss Miles from next door had hung out on her clothesline to dry.

Miss Miles never really shut her blinds so he had seen her in in various states of undress over the years. She had a physique like the girls in those old movies his dad liked to watch and she was always letting Ed have sodas out of her fridge when he would help clean out her gutters and change lightbulbs for her. 

“Oh, Eddie,” she would smile, arm on his small bicep. “You’re so big and strong.”

But here, in his living room, Edward had no idea what to do with the damp fabric balled up in his fist. Cautiously, he sniffed it. Smelled like lavender laundry soap. Later, in the dark of the night, he shimmied into the lace. But he felt ridiculous so he quickly washed the panties in his bathroom sink before hanging them back up on the clothesline. 

 

In the academy, he always had laundry duty. The higher ups, with their hulking arms and broad chests, always thought it was punishment for that weird Nygma kid but Edward liked doing laundry. There was folding and hanging and other meticulous things to be done. 

And, if a female cadet seemed to be missing a pair or two of her underthings after picking up her laundry, nobody ever said anything.

 

Edward keeps them deep in a drawer, each pair with a memorized name attached to it. Katherine ( _white cotton pink lace_ ), the kind, if but a little bit soft, girl who always let Edward cheat off her tests. Megan ( _seamless athletic purple_ ), dark skinned and muscled, who would mock him when he fell behind during exercise drills. Alexandria ( _dark blue satin skimpy_ ), tall and busty, groaning out “aw, weirdo, what do you want?” when Edward would approach her in the library. Some of them are clean, smelling like laundry soap and freshness. Others, dirty and still smelling like the musk of the woman who wore them. All of them are Edward’s favorites.

 

His collection stalls after he finishes at the academy. Too much security at the GCPD for him to go sneaking into the women’s locker room.

(not that he didn’t try: “Ma’am, I’m sorry but I thought my carbon monoxide reader was telling me that was a gas leak in here.”)

 

 

So when there’s a break in at Jim Gordon’s house, he can’t stop himself. The thief ransacked every room he could find. Bullock sends Edward into the bedroom to dust for prints.He finds himself crouched by a windowsill with Barbara Kean’s vanity lingering in his peripheral. 

Quietly he sneaks towards it— all quality wood and fine paint— and opens a drawer. Socks and stockings. Another. Carefully placed bras and shape wear. Last drawer. Jackpot. Carefully, with the end of his pen, Edward draws out a beautiful light blue pair of panties, scant and edged with creamy lace. 

“Hey Ed!” Gordon shouts from the other side of the door. “You find anything?”

Edward chuckles.

 

It’s late on a Friday night. Edward is still finishing up paperwork from a bomb blast earlier in the week. 

“Mr. Nygma,” Kristen Kringle gasps. “You’re still here.”

“Looks like we’re stuck here together, Miss Kringle,” he smiles.

She grimaces before going back into her office. 

Edward is still mentally smacking himself when she comes back out, changed out of her sensible charcoal trousers and modest blouse. Instead she wears a black cocktail dress with a sparkling brooch on her breast and a dangerous slit on her thigh.

“I will see you Monday, Mr. Nygma,” she says as that doughy cop escorts her outside.

She’s left her bag in her office. And buried underneath her carefully folded, sensible charcoal trousers is a pair of thin, lace panties. They’re so flimsy and delicate that Edward doesn’t even know if they could be called “underwear”. 

But if Miss Kringle left _these_ in her bag…what has she got on under that dress?

 

Another break in, this time in a bad part of town. There’s a body found in a small alcove that appears to be doubling as someone’s bedroom. Haphazardly, flopped out of a plastic tote, is a brightly colored pair of panties. With gloved fingers, Edward picks them up. They’re small. Brightly colored with…sharks? neon sharks? printed on them. Looking around, Edward notices the gutter trash girl with her wild hair and bad attitude talking to Gordon. 

Edward drops the panties like they’ve burned him. 

 

Dr. Thompkins all but lives in her office, buried in the back of the building. Detective Gordon is always taking her small boxes of takeout or small tote bags back to her. 

It’s early in the morning. The sun is struggling against the heavy clouds and Edward has been sent to help Lee with the autopsies. 

“Knock, knock,” he smiles, rapping against the metal doorframe. “I brought’cha some coffee.”

Lee jumps, wrapping her bathrobe around her exposed pajamas ( _Jim Gordon’s tank top branded pajama pants no_ _brassiere_ ). “Mr. Nygma! I wasn’t expecting you!” She gets up from her microscope and starts grabbing at random pieces of clothing strewn about her office. She really wasn’t expecting _anyone_. 

Edward smiles as he sets the coffee tray on a small exam table. “Want me to step out while you clean up?”

“If you wouldn’t mind. Gosh, I am so sorry!”

“It’s no problem, Doctor,” Edward says cordially, shutting the door behind him as he steps into the hallway.

“No problem at all,” he whispers, pulling a ( _decidedly unsexy lycra high waisted_ ) pair of pink panties out of his jacket pocket. 

 

“And what’s he doing here?” Fish Mooney points a manicured claw at Edward. “I thought you said you would come alone, Harvey.”

“He’s here about the dead body upstairs, Fish,” Harvey says. 

Fish regards Edward with cold eyes before a smirk spreads over her face.

“Don’t you go through my drawers, boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've seriously had this idea for the better part of a year and just now got to it.
> 
> also for those following along at home, I am working on a followup to my hooker!Jim fic.


End file.
